


An Unexpected Proposition

by extension_cord



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Last Stand of the Wreckers, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sticky Sex, Topping from the Bottom, gunfucking, what is this I don't even
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 14:44:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extension_cord/pseuds/extension_cord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>IDW-verse, Last Stand of the Wreckers: on Garrus 9, Overlord has reunited Shockwave's head with the rest of his body, in the hopes that he will receive an antidote for his kill-switch virus. Shockwave agrees, on one condition...</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unexpected Proposition

**Author's Note:**

> ... I am so sorry.
> 
> Disclaimer — nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

The act of miscalculation was unknown to Overlord. Everything in his life, from the very moment he was first forged, and every decision he had made since, had been careful, precise, deliberate. He had always weighed his options thoroughly, mapped out the potential consequences and outcomes of his actions, and knew, quite instinctively, how to bend others' fates to fit his own plan. Occasionally it was luck — Overlord could admit that to himself — but in most cases, it was sheer _power_ and _skill_. Oh, Overlord had been bested before — most notably at the hands of Megatron himself — but those defeats, those rare occurrences, had not been the product of miscalculation.

In spite of it all, Overlord was still a very _impulsive_ individual. He enjoyed chaos and the plethora of possibilities it could bring — so long as he could, in the end, rein control over it. Perhaps Overlord's existence was a lesson in measured impulse; perhaps he was simply giving himself too much credit — maybe he truly was just guided by _luck_. In any case, things more often than not fell in his favor, and when they didn't, it never came as a surprise.

This, though, was a little different. And a little unexpected. And maybe — just maybe — it caught Overlord off-guard.

"It's a simple enough exchange," intoned Shockwave, single, yellow optic emotionless and unblinking on his rather featureless head — which just had, only less than an hour prior, been reunited with the rest of his body. "You _do_ want the anti-viral for your _blind spot_ , correct?"

"Very," said Overlord, "but I fail to see how your _proposal_ correlates with that."

Shockwave, though incapable of exhibiting any expression on his inscrutable, nonexistent face, _exuded_ incredulity. "Is that so? I doubt that, Overlord. I alone can disarm your Achilles virus, and you are well aware of this. It would _behoove_ you, then, to comply —"

"I will not submit myself to your _sick desires_ , Shockwave."

The purple Decepticon laughed — he actually _laughed_ , which Overlord found to be simultaneously disturbing and amusing — and said evenly, "It's ironic to hear that coming from you."

"And it's _ironic_ ," Overlord snapped back, "to imagine a _prudish drone_ like yourself even _believing_ , just for one second, that I would yield to such grotesqueries." They stared at one another for an extended moment, vents running high, heat rolling off their frames and warming the prison's rudimentary medibay to an uncomfortable, stifling fervor. Shockwave, as he'd been for millions of years, was unyielding. There was no changing that. Overlord wanted nothing less than to rip the mono-opticked Decepticon to shreds, but no — no, that wouldn't do. He needed that pesky virus to be removed, and Shockwave was the only one who could do just that, and for once, Overlord wasn't interested in using torture to elicit the cure.

He knew that protracted torment would get him exactly _nowhere_ with Shockwave.

Overlord took a step forward, his gaze set on the shorter Decepticon. He'd underestimated Shockwave, and really had not expected such a turn of events, but how could he have possibly foreseen this happening? Shockwave had always been predictably stoic, emotionless, reserved — _professional_ , even, in his oft-treachery. Overlord wondered what exactly was going through the other's mind, as it was impossible to read body language that simply wasn't there. Yes, this was an unprecedented annoyance. But it was also necessary. The Phase-Sixer felt his lips curve upward into a smile.

"I trust you see things my way, at last," said Shockwave.

"I doubt it," was Overlord's measured reply, "but I have — _warmed up_ to your proposition, and I accept, on a few _conditions_." Yes, he might have miscalculated Shockwave's capacity for unscrupulous dealings. Still, the rogue Decepticon had little doubt that he could manipulate the situation to better fit his needs.

"Name them." Quite suddenly, Shockwave was considerably closer, and Overlord felt the purple, jutting chest armor collide none-too-gently with his own.

Leaving any semblance of discretion behind, the Phase-Sixer let his optics roam down the other's frame. It wasn't so special — it was all sharp angles and a two-tone paintjob, not to mention the utterly _uninteresting_ farce of a face — but there was something about Shockwave's form that was unlike any other Overlord had laid eyes upon. Perhaps it was the purple Decepticon's _presence_ — and the cold, calculating energy that was currently spilling from him in waves.

Overlord's gaze continued to wander, until his optics finally settled on Shockwave's left arm, terminated by the familiar, lengthy barrel of his laser rifle. Until this moment, he'd always viewed the weapon appendage as a waste of an arm, but now? Yes, Overlord had plans for _that_. He reached a hand forward and ran a single digit down the length of the gun, pausing on the muzzle, then flicked his attention back to Shockwave's single optic. "You will use this, and only this."

 "That can be arranged." Oh, Shockwave, businesslike as ever. Overlord almost admired his indefatigable oath to formality. "Will that be all?"

"For now." Overlord's words held an unspoken promise: _no, that would not be all_. Shockwave seemed to recognize this; his frame stiffened, briefly — and it was unnerving to see a hint of trepidation, no matter how small. The moment passed, and Overlord felt his smirk widen. "Do your worst. Don't be afraid to scratch my paint."

Shockwave's immediate response was not of the verbal variety. In one jarringly swift movement, Overlord found himself slammed face-first into the metal plating of the floor. For a split-second, his vision fritzed — a foot plowed into the small of his back — and then the purple Decepticon was close, _very_ close, and the Phase-Sixer could feel the searing reach of Shockwave's charged, potent energy field. His next words made everything worth it; they might have even made Overlord's _life_ , though it was too early in their encounter to know for sure.

"Hands and knees."

Still pinned against the deck, Overlord heard himself laugh. Here he was, witnessing — quite firsthand — a side of Shockwave he had never even known to _exist._

It was hilarious.

He didn't comply, of course. His smile never faltering, Overlord reached an arm behind him, seized the foot that held him in place, and with a sharp tug, evened the playing field. Shockwave came crashing down beside him; medical instruments and torture devices in nearby cabinets rattled with the impact. In an instant, the Phase-Sixer pushed himself from the floor and descended upon the other, armored knee landing squarely between Shockwave's parted thighs.

It really was unsettling, not being able to read the featureless face below him. Shockwave's single, yellow optic appeared brighter than usual — but what that indicated, Overlord didn't know. He wasn't familiar enough with Shockwave to recognize his miniscule emotional nuances — and Overlord found it strangely, unexpectedly _exciting_. So used to expressions of outright horror and hatred, this was _different_ and _new_ and oddly _arousing_.

But Overlord had examined Shockwave for one second too long: a balled fist filled the Phase-Sixer's visual field, and it connected solidly with his face. The impact rocked against his jaw — the tang of energon filled his mouth — Overlord felt his core temperature soar. Shockwave thrashed beneath him and managed to plant a kick to the rogue Decepticon's midsection. Again he was falling, this time backward, but the satisfied smile never left Overlord's face.

"Condition number two, Shockwave. You need to _work_ for this."

"Fair enough."

Overlord was delighted to find that Shockwave's movements and mannerisms, even in this sort of situation, were just as methodical and stilted as they were when reporting to _Megatron_. As always, logic dictated the purple Decepticon's actions — and now he advanced upon Overlord, his footfalls measured and careful and calculated. By all accounts Shockwave appeared as calm as ever — but he was betrayed by his fans, which were now howling, and Overlord could feel the rake of his overcharged energy field. A hand gripped the Phase-Sixer's chin, and with a sharp twist, the side of his head was ground into the floor.

This was entertaining. Overlord was _entertained_. He still wasn't entirely sure why Shockwave had demanded this _engagement_ , but it was _thoroughly entertaining_ and frag the pit fights and torture cells and hunting parties — this was incredible. How many others had been privy to this previously-unknown side of Shockwave? Perhaps no one, not even _Megatron_ …

Overlord let the mono-opticked Decepticon descend upon him, thighs straddling his pelvic armor; Shockwave's arm-gun was warm and humming with a low charge. The Phase-Sixer wrenched his head back up, optic-to-optic with the purple Decepticon above him — and he was surprised, just a _little bit_ , by the fact that Shockwave's powerful laser rifle was _on_ and was held only inches from his face.

"You wouldn't," said Overlord, smile returning to his lips.

"Despite the ease at which I could do so right now, I have no intention of shooting you," Shockwave replied, and his voice sounded a bit reedier than usual. The muzzle of the gun moved, slightly — from between Overlord's optics, down the bridge of his nose, and then stopping, finally, to rest at his mouth.

Beneath the gun, the leer widened, and Overlord knew, exactly, what the other wanted. "My dearest Shockwave, you _truly_ speak from the spark." There was no response, of course, and the firearm simply nudged against his smirking lips. "And since you've asked so _nicely_ …" His gaze locked squarely with that of Shockwave, Overlord opened his mouth, and the muzzle of the gun clicked against his dentae. He could feel the potent hum of the weapon pulse through his circuitry; it was a warm vibration, and so deliciously dangerous. The Phase-Sixer grinned against the muzzle, then extended his glossa, swiping it against the smooth, hot metal, plunging it into the gun, feeling the weapon thrum with charge.

Above him, Shockwave's fans kicked on a step higher.

As he continued to service the living metal of the laser rifle, Overlord became acutely aware of himself and everything going on around him: his own plating, becoming ever warmer — the needy ache in his interface equipment — his vents sucking in air in a desperate attempt to cool his overheated frame. His lips closed around the muzzle; above him, Shockwave's electromagnetic field rippled with _want_ — the single optic dimmed to a sultry yellow — the hand that held Overlord down loosened its grip, then moved to his jaw, and quite suddenly forced it to open wider.

The rogue Decepticon had been waiting for this. With no warning, Shockwave thrust the gun downward. It filled Overlord's mouth then plunged into his throat. It was a tight fit, and the intrusion was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. Overlord had never been on the receiving end of such an act, and while he quickly determined that it wasn't his _favorite_ , he had to admit that the idea of role-reversal was undeniably _interesting_. Just when the tubing of his throat had started to get accustomed to the girth of the laser rifle's barrel, however, Shockwave pulled it back — only to thrust it in even deeper. Overlord felt his neck spasm with the forced invasion; again the weapon left his throat, and again it was rammed back in. The Phase-Sixer sputtered and cursed, and distantly, he felt his hands clambering at the floor.

This wasn't dignified _at all_ ; Overlord could feel the warm trickle of energon seeping from his burst lip components and falling down his chin, and with every thrust down his throat, the Phase-Sixer's intakes hitched, and it was _painful_ in a way he couldn't quite explain. At some point, Overlord had offlined his vision, but now it was back on, and there was Shockwave's lone, yellow optic, hovering only feet away, face unreadable as ever.

Shockwave withdrew his gun again, and this time, the muzzle cleared Overlord's lips. He was poised to shove it back in, but that simply _would not do_. The Phase-Sixer watched his hand shoot up, almost on its own accord, and intercept Shockwave's left arm; he held it there, the muzzle of the laser rifle still charged and inches away from his bleeding mouth. In an instant, Overlord threw the purple Decepticon off his body; Shockwave crashed into a medical slab, then crumpled to the floor.

Overlord pushed himself to his feet and advanced upon the other. His plating was _searing_ , now — his spark was skipping inside its casing — his fans wailed. Overlord straddled his supine prey, large hands holding Shockwave against the deck. "I enjoy games," Overlord hissed, lips inches from Shockwave's audial fins, "but I think it's about time this one drew to a _close_."

"Agreed," said Shockwave. The hot muzzle of the laser rifle raked down Overlord's boxy chest plating, past the turret guns of his abdominal armor, down his pelvic housing, and came to rest between his spread thighs, thrumming against the cover of his interface array. "Open it."

This was a most interesting state of affairs, Overlord realized. There he was, perched above Shockwave, and the 'con against the floor had the audacity to _give him orders_. It was an excitingly impertinent thing to do, but Primus-be-damned, did it ever get him going. The twin engines of Overlord's two altmodes roared in unison as he pulled himself forward, knees astride Shockwave's jutting chest armor, legs spread almost painfully wide. Heat rolled off his frame, and Overlord could feel the same, tangibly, radiating from the Decepticon below him.

The muzzle of the laser rifle tapped against his port cover, and almost immediately, the panel slid aside. The fluids that had been trapped there began to seep out, and Overlord felt the hot lubricant dripping down the inside of his open thighs. The Phase-Sixer imagined it looked pretty damn demeaning, but if the screaming fans beneath him were any indication, Shockwave thoroughly enjoyed the view. Overlord himself didn't particularly care how undignified he might have appeared, and when the muzzle of the gun pressed none-too-gently against the rim of his port, he _truly_ didn't care.

Frag preparation. Overlord lifted himself up, then promptly sunk down onto the barrel of the gun, taking the entire length inside him. Internal calipers struggled to accommodate the girth, whirring and grinding against the intrusion. The living metal of the laser rifle was absolutely _scalding_ , inflicting searing pain in _all the right places_.

Again the Phase-Sixer brought himself up, and again he slammed himself back down, the rim of his port smashing into the hilt of the gun, fluids now trickling down Shockwave's arm. Overlord locked his gaze with that of the Decepticon below him. The single, yellow optic was a indiscernible as ever.

"Do your worst."

Shockwave obliged. Overlord felt the laser rifle leave his overstuffed port, only to be shoved back in. The barrel of the gun vibrated against his internals — another thrust of the weapon — somewhere, a caliper snapped, and Overlord hissed with sick pleasure — another thrust — the muzzle of the laser rifle scraped against a sensory node, somewhere deep inside of him, and it sang with perverse delight — another thrust — lubricant spattered over Shockwave's boxy chest plating.

The purple Decepticon set up a torturously fierce rhythm. With every plunge of the weapon, Overlord felt his body inch forward. His hands scrabbled for purchase, but the smooth surface of the deck offered no help. Another thrust of the laser rifle, and Overlord's pelvic armor hovered above Shockwave's head; the panel covering the Phase-Sixer's spike slid aside, and instantly it was out and at attention. Overlord hazily found himself wishing the Decepticon below him had a mouth — then he could bury himself in it, to the hilt — but Shockwave's face was as impenetrable as it was featureless. _What a shame_.

The laser rifle was rammed in again; beneath Overlord's spread thighs, Shockwave stirred. It didn't seem important, and the Phase-Sixer had long ago offlined his optics — and then he felt his head smashed, face-first, into the floor. The purple Decepticon had managed to free himself, and now Overlord — reduced to a _most vulnerable_ position on his elbows and knees — felt his aft pulled upward. Shockwave resumed his assault on the Phase-Sixer's port, and just when Overlord was about to argue about the shift in position and therefore _power_ , he felt a hand wrap around his spike and start to pump.

As Shockwave began a steady counter rhythm, any complaints Overlord might have had were quickly forgotten.

It was too much. Overload descended upon him: his spark skipping, white-hot within its casing — his fans screaming — his thighs quivering. Overlord felt the last shreds of self-control begin to ebb away. A final pump of his spike — a final thrust of the laser rifle — the painful twinge of yet another snapped caliper. That sent him over the edge, and Overlord snarled in release. The internal components of his port clamped down hard around Shockwave's gun — transfluid erupted from his spike — a last surge of lubricant came streaking down his thighs.

Several seconds passed, filled with only the sound of wailing fans. One by one, the warnings that had been pinging in Overlord's visual peripheries slowly resolved themselves.

With a brusque yank, Shockwave pulled out his laser rifle. Overlord felt himself collapse into a pile, only vaguely aware of the puddle of cooling transfluid beneath him. His vents heaved and whined, overtaxed and struggling to regulate the temperature of his heated frame, and his optics reset once, twice, and finally, a third time. Behind him, he heard Shockwave rise to his feet.

"When you're ready," said the ever-calm, ever-emotionless, ever- _detached_ voice, "we can begin the process of administering the anti-viral."

Yes, Overlord thought, that sounded like a good idea.

* * *

_Fin_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :B


End file.
